


In Darkness

by MoanDiary



Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [11]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Prompt: Control, Prompt: Monster Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: It’s a familiar dream.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626784
Comments: 21
Kudos: 136





	In Darkness

It’s a familiar dream.

The doors of his penthouse elevator slide open, and they stumble out. His fingers are strong and possessive where they tangle in her hair, pressing her mouth to his again and again, like he can’t get enough, like he’s desperate. He’s shaking against her, with anxiety or fear or lust—she can’t tell. 

It’s exhilarating, how badly he needs her.

She pushed and pushed and pushed and he finally broke, his resistance worn to the limit by her engagement to Pierce and his obvious jealousy. Finally, he admitted what she knew all along, for the whole past year, really—since before Candy, before her poisoning. He loves her, wants her, as much as she wants him. It was so infuriating that he wouldn’t acknowledge it, that he didn’t think he was worthy of taking what he wanted, what she was so obviously willing to give.

He lifts her up onto the piano and she tears at his shirt, seams ripping, buttons flying. He chuckles deep in his throat and works his arms out of it while she explores the strong, smooth planes of his torso. When her eyes rise to meet his again, she expects a leer, or a salacious eyebrow cocked, but instead the smile on his face is almost unbearably tender. He’s so beautiful with his soft hair falling across his forehead and his dark eyes brimming with joy. His hands rise to her face and he holds her like she’s something sacred while he kisses her, mouth moving slow and soft.

The heat builds slowly again, lips and tongues growing hungrier and hungrier, until he lifts her off the piano carries her to the couch, falling onto it with her on his lap.

“You chose me,” he groans, gripping her to him. Then, “ _Chloe_.” She can feel him through his trousers, and she’s seen enough of him in the nude to imagine what he looks like, feels like. She’s hungry for it, for all of it, all of him. 

She stands to remove her clothes and he can’t seem to help but watch, entranced, with a wondering smile on his face. His eyes glimmer wetly in the low, flickering flames of his fireplace. When she’s nude, she kneels on the hard marble floor before him and slowly unbuttons his trousers. He sucks in a quick breath as his zipper slides down, and then she pulls him free, and his fingers sink deep into the fine Italian leather of the sofa.

“Oh,” he says simply, voice breaking as she thumbs his swollen, dripping tip, as she slides his foreskin up and down. _ I’ll give him something to really moan about,  _ she thinks, and leans forward to suck him into her mouth. He makes a broken, choked noise, and in her peripheral vision she sees his fingers convulse on the couch beside them. She takes as much of him in as she can, cheeks hollowing around him as she pulls back up. What she can’t reach, she pumps with her hand. Her other hand strays between her own legs, pressing against herself where she aches for him.

After a few minutes of sweet torture, he stops her and pulls her back up to him. Kisses away the ache in her jaw and the taste of him on her lips. She straddles him again, his cock at full attention, so close to where she wants it. She sits up on her knees and takes him in her hand, positioning him. He stops her, grip unyielding on her hips.

“Detective, are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. His expression is grave, fixed on her like everything he has hangs on her answer.

She grins. “Hell, yes,” she breathes, sliding down on him. Her eyes slide shut and it’s good, _ oh, _ it’s so good.

His fingers tighten on her hips, lifting her and bringing her back down with a powerful thrust. She cries out and throws her head back, already close,  _ so close _ .

She feels his hot breath fan across her face.

“The deal is struck,” his voice intones. Cold, cruel, but undeniably Lucifer’s. Her eyes snap open.

She is sitting astride a monstrosity. Its skin is red and twisted, like a burn victim who should never have been able to survive. Any sign there might once have been of hair has been well and truly melted away. A deep gouge is carved into its forehead almost to the bone, like a mark of shame, a pronouncement of guilt.

But its eyes are the worst of all—sclera black, irises like flames shining out from the shadows of their sockets. They’re mesmerizing and terrifying, embodied proof of hellfire, of eternal damnation. The sins of humanity will be punished, and this is the monster that will do the punishing.

She tries to throw herself off its lap, to scramble away, but it holds her there, open and penetrated and vulnerable. It seems to find amusement in her struggle.

“You said yes,” it mocks through a grimace of blackened teeth, one claw-like hand clasping her breast—long, sharp nail scraping lightly against her nipple. The other hand grips her ass, lifting her in a steady, shallow rhythm as it rolls its hips in counterpoint. “You wanted this. You wanted me.”

“No, no,” she sobs, trying to look away, trying to get away. 

“You would break a deal with the Devil?” it hisses, threading claws through her hair and forcing her face close. Its skin is almost unbearably hot against her, inside of her, like it’s still burning. This is what she wanted, she thinks wildly. How can she want this? How is it still  _ so good? _

“Please,” she whimpers, not sure what exactly she’s begging for. “Please.”

* * *

She wakes with pleas on her lips and tears on her face. Trixie is standing beside her lumpy hotel bed, Ms. Alien clutched in her arms.

“Were you having a bad dream, Mommy?” she asks. She’s on the verge of tears herself.

Chloe shakes off the dream. The terror, the violation, the perverse pleasure.

“Yeah. I’m...I’m okay, though,” she says, wiping her eyes and her sweaty forehead. “You can go back to bed.” 

Rome is hot this time of year and their hotel doesn’t have air conditioning. She closed the windows earlier to muffle the sounds of drunken tourists carousing in the narrow, cobbled street below, but it’s quiet now, so she gets up and opens them again. If she leans out a little, she can see the edge of the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. Tomorrow she’ll return to its dim, dusty library and force herself to read more of the ways in which she’s a fool. The ways in which she was tricked and deceived. Maybe tomorrow things will finally make sense. She’ll see a way forward, a way to pick up the pieces of her life.

For the time being, there is only darkness.


End file.
